


snow cherry

by eraserheadbaby



Category: Drag-On Dragoon | Drakengard
Genre: Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Gen, Interspecies Relationship(s), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 13:24:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18895492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eraserheadbaby/pseuds/eraserheadbaby
Summary: “...Michael, are you alright?”Such a simple question, yet so peculiar as it leaves Zero's lips, conditioned to let out nothing but obscenities and threats.





	snow cherry

It's snowing as they fly away from the temple, and the cold flakes make their descent from the sky, nipping at Zero's freshly bruised skin along their way. As their previous location was little more than a fiery wasteland of sand, the water of the melting flakes fuses with her sweat to form an unpleasant brew.

Michael attentively guides them through the freezing air, but Zero can almost feel his exhaustion from their recent battle emanate through his back. He's also being uncharacteristically silent (is that even that weird? It's not that he talks too much, it's just that he chooses to say every fucking thing in the most convoluted, pompous way).

Maybe all dragons sulked like sore losers after getting their ass handed to them by someone. Tough shit- Zero could beat Michael in her sleep.

Her thoughts, surprising as they are, scorch her mind like the snowflakes on her body. Since when did she think about fights like this? Zero doesn't get any kind of pleasure from her battles. For her, they are like oxygen- she needs it to survive, but she has no reason to revel in it. More than battles, though, she needs blood to survive- the blood of her enemies. Battles are meaningless if she doesn't have a corpse to leave behind after they're done.

But battling against Michael in the temple didn't feel like it was supposed to.

It was just part of her stupid trials, just a gratuitous show of her strength. Not a duel meant to end in carnage. Not a particularly difficult task, either- “greatest of the dragonkind” her ass. Zero is overwhelmed by an unforeseen need to gloat about her victory, to tease Michael for his defeat, to joke about his lame strategies. Maybe give him some props for those fireballs too.

What's this? Had battling with Michael been...fun?

Snow slides down her exposed legs, the frost like a razor straight onto the flesh. God is she too tired for this shit. Zero tucks her legs underneath her body to provide them with even the least bit of warmth. And to provide Michael's back with some extra weight to carry.

“What do you think you're doing?”, his counter is immediate.

“Sitting? Waiting for you to finally take us away from this snowy shithole?”

“How dare you treat a dragon like this! You, a lowly human-”

“Yeah, yeah, just shut up and keep flying, will you?”

Michael mutters something that sounds pretty close to “lazy, insolent fool”, but acts in accordance with Zero's command anyway.

The snow starts thawing on Michael's rough scales, and Zero clings to him for a sturdier ride. Her palms skitter across the various gashes, the remnants left by the ruthless dance of her blade. She has no reason to think about them even for a second- she knows for a fact that all the wounds will be healed in just a few minutes, that they're truly an insect bite for a dragon (yes, even a dumbass pretentious dragon like Michael), and yet...

Faced with the hurt she inflicted on Michael, Zero feels a newfound power assert its sovereignty on her entire being. It's enough to drown her whole, to enclose her like the flower that's been inside her all this time, its power enough to start digging through her eye, gouging the eyeball out and leaving the petals of evil burgeon inside the socket. Enough to drag out all the cruelty she has nurtured through her (shitty excuse of) a life, like a hunter towing its prey out of its nest.

The power of the flower wants too much- it wants death, it wants destruction, it was everything to fall to pieces. This power, though, only asks one thing of Zero.

She still can't tell exactly what it is, but she knows what it wants her to do for now. It's in the question lingering on the underside of her tongue.

“...Michael, are you alright?”

Such a simple question, yet so peculiar as it leaves Zero's lips, conditioned to let out nothing but obscenities and threats.

It's not even the first time she asks him this. The first time was during their battle, and it's possible that the depth of the words echoes much more clearly now, amongst the peaceful clouds.

The crosscurrent of the pregnant question is not lost on Michael. He doesn't dismiss it, he doesn't mock Zero for acting out of her usual savage guise- he turns his head towards her and firmly nods.

The wind keeps soaring and slinging snow all around, still spreading the cold of pure ice. It's filled with the metallic aroma of the blood emitted through Zero's stained cape. But this same air, filtered through Michael's wings as they flutter, seems just a bit warmer, just a bit more fragnant, as it brushes Zero's face.


End file.
